Counting the Stars
by Newkirk's Heroes
Summary: Ok, I know I'm in the middle of another story, but this hit me, and I had to write it. Honestly, I don't think you guys will like it very much, but please read anyway. I can't really explain it, but please don't flame me. I'm sorry in advance! Lol, anyway


Ok, explanations:  
This was something that came to me. This has no bearing on the continuity of my other fanfics, or anything of that nature. You'll see what I mean when you read. Also, I used Baker in this one instead of Kinchloe, because first off, I felt bad for him. He's never used in fics! Second, the sixth season is my favorite season, because I think the relationships between the characters are more fully developed. Anyway, enough of my musing. PLEASE don't flame me, this is something I sort of had to write!   
  
  
  
"Did you hear something?"  
Corporal Peter Newkirk turned back sharply to Corporal Louie LeBeau, raising a questioning eyebrow. LeBeau pitched his head back in a motioning gesture, and Newkirk stopped, listening.  
"Don't hear anything." The Englishman shrugged softly. LeBeau rolled his eyes. Newkirk sighed and bit the side of his mouth impatiently. LeBeau still seemed to be listening to the quiet night.  
"Well, come on. I don't fancy being out here all bloody night!" Newkirk prompted. LeBeau set his mouth in a somewhat pugnacious expression, but didn't say anything.  
The two started moving again, ducking low through the December-glinted Teutonic forest. It had been a pretty successful night--Newkirk had managed to steal the details for a panzer defensive near Kursk, and had made contact with a defecting Luftwaffe Marshall. All in all, they had done pretty well for themselves. Even so, there was a coldness between the two that had been there for the past few weeks or so. The two couldn't explain it, but for some reason, whenever they were together, they couldn't help but fight. Newkirk attributed it to stress. After all, one can only make so many life-and-death missions before the world becomes a bit too much.  
"I swear I heard something." LeBeau muttered after another moment.  
"Louie, I have ears, too. And I DIDN'T hear anything." Newkirk remarked through a somewhat-clenched jaw. LeBeau rolled his eyes again. Sometimes Newkirk could be a bit testy, and he didn't often think himself wrong. Self-confidence was a good trait, of course, but Newkirk had a tendency to go a bit overboard. And lately, Newkirk's self-confidence had grated on LeBeau's nerves more than usually.  
"All right then, when you're hanging by your thumbs in a Gestapo prison, you'll know I was right." LeBeau smirked, a bit haughty himself.   
"I haven't gotten caught yet." Newkirk huffed, mostly to himself.  
"There's a first time for everything." LeBeau murmured, loud enough for the Englishman to hear.  
Newkirk stopped and turned back, facing the Frenchman, a bit of something flaring in his blue eyes.   
"Well, thank you for that, Louie." Newkirk stated, the something in his eyes flaming into ill-contained anger.   
LeBeau knew that look, and shut his mouth. They were too close to Stalag 13 to start fighting, even though, the Frenchman realized, the had already started fighting. They had started fighting a while ago.  
"Let's just go." LeBeau motioned, and Newkirk nodded tersely, turning.  
The two reached the stump, and Newkirk pulled the top off, lowering himself down into the tunnel. LeBeau followed, closing it behind him.  
  
Colonel Robert Hogan and Sergeant Richard Baker exchanged dark looks as Newkirk and LeBeau walked in. There was a tenseness between the two, a tenseness that had, unfortunately, been present for the past few weeks. Hogan, of course, couldn't blame the men for being strained. The war was drawing things out, until minutes became hours, and some days felt like years.   
"The plans, Colonel. The 47th division, I believe." Newkirk announced dully, handing Hogan the panzer orders. Hogan shook his head, removing himself from his reverie, and nodded, taking the papers.  
"Good work, Peter." Hogan offered, and Newkirk thanked him hollowly. Hogan turned to LeBeau. "Did you talk to the Luftwaffe spy?"  
"Oui, mon colonel." LeBeau nodded, and walked to his bunk, grabbing a pen and paper to write home.  
"I'm going to bed, if you don't mind." Newkirk stated in almost a growl, walking to his bunk before Hogan could say anything.  
"Sir?" Baker whispered, motioning with his head to Hogan's quarters and the privacy it offered. Hogan nodded, and walked over. Baker closed the door behind them.  
"I guess you're noticing it as well." Hogan recognized.  
"Yeah...I wonder what's with those two. I always thought they were really close." Baker remarked, raising an eyebrow.  
"They were. The two of them were good friends. Are, I mean. I hope." Hogan nodded with a grim smile. Baker nodded, frowning. Though he was new to the Hogan's team, he had been pleasantly surprised by how easily they had accepted him. To Baker, there was a wonderfully strange sense of camaraderie amongst Hogan's men, probably born of extraordinary experiences shared. Baker had also noticed that the only two non-Americans, Newkirk and LeBeau, seemed closer than the other men. But now, it seemed as if the two either purposely avoided each other, or purposely started fights with each other.  
"Well, maybe it's just a bad time. We have had a lot to do this month." Baker suggested equivocally.  
"Yeah, I hope that's all it is. The most dangerous thing for us is dissension among the ranks." Hogan joked, and Baker nodded with a wry smile.  
"I hope we don't start turning each other in." He added with a laugh.  
"Oh that would be pretty funny." Hogan raised an eyebrow and shook his head. Baker shrugged.  
"Well maybe I should send them out together for the next mission. If they have to work with each other, maybe they'll be forced to straighten things out." Hogan mused.  
"Yeah, probably. After all, they can't keep this up forever." Baker nodded.  
Hogan was about to reply when a shattering crash sounded from the barracks. Exchanging quick looks of confusion, Hogan and Baker rushed out of the colonel's quarters and into the main bunkroom. The two looked for a moment in surprise.  
Newkirk and LeBeau were fighting. Physically fighting, that is, and not just a little tussle. The two were really tearing into each other, viciously, angrily.  
Hogan turned to Sergeant Andrew Carter, who was watching, seemingly rooted to his spot.  
"What happened?" he demanded.  
"I don't know, Colonel! They were just talking...not yelling or anything, just talking, and then Newkirk jumped out of bed and said something to LeBeau. LeBeau tore into him!" Carter explained.  
"God, what is this. Baker, help me!" Hogan sighed bitterly, and he and Baker waded between the two quarreling men, struggling to pull them apart.  
"STOP IT!" Hogan cried, shocking the two into silence. He had grabbed LeBeau, and Baker had subdued Newkirk, the two dragging the warring contingents to opposite sides of the room.  
"Colonel, sorry..." LeBeau panted, wiping off his face. Newkirk didn't say a thing, but he averted his eyes as Hogan turned to him, and pulled out of Baker's grip. The Englishman straightened out his sweater and brushed his dark hair from his eyes.  
"Now, anyone care to explain why this happened?" Hogan demanded, looking sharply at the two. LeBeau was beginning to sport a black eye, and Newkirk had a raw, red bruise on his jaw.  
"Sorry, mon colonel, I couldn't stop myself. I just...well, he..." LeBeau trailed off, his eyebrows lowering as he glared at Newkirk.  
"Peter? Want to add something?" Hogan turned to Newkirk raising an eyebrow.  
"Not much to add. There were words, and we fought. I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again, that is if he learns to control himself a bit better." Newkirk spat bitterly.  
"Me!? You were the one that attacked me!!" LeBeau exclaimed in outrage.  
"There you go, twisting the truth again." Newkirk shot back.  
"Stop it!" Hogan demanded, before the two got any angrier than they already were.  
Newkirk and LeBeau stopped talking, but the looks they threw each other from across the room said more than any words could.  
"Now, listen to me, and listen closely. We're a team here, get it, a team. And not just a baseball team, either. We depend on each other, and sometimes that dependence can be the difference between life and death. Now, we can't have this fighting! I don't care what it's about...resolve it, and stop." Hogan demanded, his voice even but serious.  
"Do you understand?" Hogan prompted after a prolonged silence.  
"Yes sir." LeBeau sighed.  
Newkirk was silent, and Hogan turned to him, prompting him.  
"Yes sir." Newkirk nodded, but his eyes were dark.  
"Good, now shake hands and let's forget about this." Hogan finished, his voice softer, kinder. Frowning, but not wanting to disobey their commanding officer, Newkirk and LeBeau walked over to each other. LeBeau extended his hand, and Newkirk stared at him for a few seconds, his blue eyes twisted in something dangerously close to hate. Finally, the Englishman shook the Frenchman's hand briefly, then walked silently to his bunk.  
Hogan and Baker watched, their eyes troubled.  
  
"Are you sure we should send the two of those out together, Colonel?" Baker wondered as Hogan charted the route of a munitions train on the wall map in the tunnel. Hogan turned to Baker mildly.  
"We have to get them to work with each other again." Hogan shrugged.  
"But if they fight, they might...well, you know..." Baker trailed off with a meaningful gesture. Hogan pursed his lips and sighed. Baker waited, attentively.   
"I know what you mean. But Newkirk and LeBeau are smart. They've never let personal issues stop them before." Hogan replied finally.  
"Yeah, but have they ever fought like that before?" Baker wondered respectfully.  
"Not that I know of." Hogan admitted.  
Baker sighed.  
"Maybe you're right, though. Maybe working together will help them work whatever is bothering them out." Baker finally conceded. "Are you going to send them out to plant the dynamite on the track tonight?"  
"Yeah, should be easy enough. No SS sightings around that area, and the Gestapo have laid off around here. I don't think there should be any outside problems." Hogan replied, nodding.  
"Let's just hope we don't have any inside problems." Baker raised an eyebrow.  
"You're right--the last thing we need is a Civil War." Hogan smirked dryly, and Baker nodded with a sarcastic laugh.  
  
Sergeant Hans Schultz dug through the pocket of his uniform fruitlessly, sighing. He had been so sure he had had at least one more cigarette. Then he remembered...Klink had 'confiscated' all his smokes. Klink already had a whole box of cigars, why did he insist on depriving Schultz of his cigarettes?  
The German sighed and looked around. That British corporal, Newkirk...he always had cigarettes. Schultz didn't know how he got them, but then Schultz proudly professed to knowing very little. In wartime, that sometimes helped a person.  
Schultz found Newkirk leaning against the recreation building, smoking. There was something off about him, Schultz noted as he walked up. Something in his eyes. And he had a bruise on his jaw.  
"Newkirk!" Schultz called genially.  
"What?" the Englishman growled, putting out his cigarette and stomping on it with a vengeance.  
Schultz frowned.  
"What is wrong with you today?" He wondered.  
"Nothing. Now, do you want something?" Newkirk demanded.  
"No...never mind." Schultz shook his head and walked away. Something was wrong. Though enemies, of course, Schultz had never felt real hate coming from the prisoners. Newkirk's eyes had been full of it, though. But, on second thought, Schultz realized the hate had not been for him. Though he professed to see nothing, Schultz saw a lot. And he had been seeing the animosity between Newkirk and the Cockroach. Schultz didn't know why, but he had seen the looks between the two, and he had heard some of what they would say. That bothered Schultz. Out of all the prisoners, Newkirk and the Frenchman had seemed closest to each other. But now...well, with what he had seen in Newkirk's eyes, Schultz didn't think that was true any longer.  
  
"LeBeau? LeBeau, where are you?" Carter called, combing the barracks. Hogan had asked him to find the Frenchman, who had been making himself scarce lately.  
"What?" LeBeau asked, popping out from his bunk.  
"Oh, there you are. Anyway, Louie, the Colonel wants to see you." Carter addressed LeBeau as he stood.  
"About what?" LeBeau asked.  
"A job tonight, I think." Carter shrugged, and LeBeau nodded. LeBeau was about to walk off when Carter grabbed his arm and gave him a questioning look.  
"What?" LeBeau prompted.  
"Do you mind if I ask you a question, Louie?" Carter wondered.  
"You just did." LeBeau raised an eyebrow.  
"I did? What did I ask?" Carter frowned.  
"That was two more." LeBeau smiled, a bit more kindly, and Carter gave him an even more bemused expression.  
"Never mind, Andrew, what's the question?" LeBeau wondered.  
"What did Newkirk say to you, to make you fight?" Carter asked, probably in the least impertinent way he knew how. LeBeau gave him that, and bit back the sharp reply he had been formulating.  
"He insulted the French army." LeBeau replied shortly.  
"Why did he do that?" Carter frowned. "Newkirk can be a bit sarcastic, but I don't think he would be mean like that."  
"Well, I insulted the British army. We've been insulting each other a lot lately." LeBeau shrugged, his eyes getting a distant, probing expression.  
"Why?" Carter wondered.  
"I don't know, Andrew, I really don't. Peter can be so haughty sometimes. He can hurt people without knowing it, and he...well, he's just been bothering me lately." LeBeau explained, more to himself than Carter, though.  
Before Carter could say anything else, LeBeau walked off, to meet with Hogan.  
  
Newkirk was already in the tunnel when LeBeau lowered himself down. Baker had retrieved him, and as the Englishman realized the Frenchman's presence, he turned to Hogan sharply.  
"Colonel, if you want me..." Newkirk started, but Hogan held up his hand.  
"I don't want to hear it. You and LeBeau are going to blow up a train tonight, and you're going to do it together. We can't have this, especially not with you two." Hogan interrupted.  
Newkirk didn't say anything, but his jaw muscle was twitching in anger, his eyes hot. LeBeau felt a sudden surge of anger as well, though he tried to bury it. His eyes grew dark, and he remained silent.  
"Now, tonight, you two will leave. Carter's already produced the explosives. And when you come back, I want you to be friends again. Understood?" Hogan raised an eyebrow.  
"Yes sir." LeBeau conceded.  
Newkirk simply nodded his head, and climbed up. LeBeau waited until he was gone, then climbed up himself.  
Baker watched the two go.  
"I hope we're right about this." He sighed.  
"Me too." Hogan nodded.  
  
Later that evening, Newkirk and LeBeau were again crawling through a night-darkened forest, though in silence this time. LeBeau had the dynamite in a bag slung over his shoulder, and Newkirk carried the charger. The air around the two almost crackled with tenseness, a dangerous buried feeling, ready to burst through.  
"Are we almost there?" Newkirk finally asked in a strained voice.  
"Close." LeBeau nodded.  
Newkirk nodded once, and sunk back into silence. But not the companionable silence the two had once experienced. This silence was dangerous, and almost as explosive as the dynamite LeBeau carried.  
Newkirk looked at his watch briefly.  
"The train's coming at quarter to twelve. It's half past now." He announced.  
"Thank you for that bulletin." LeBeau shot back, almost unconsciously.  
"I was simply stating a fact, Louie, and if we miss that train, that'll be another fact." Newkirk muttered darkly.  
"Shut up. You want to get us caught?" LeBeau demanded sharply.  
"You know, that is it! I am tired of this!" Newkirk exclaimed suddenly, his blue eyes flaring.  
"Then what do you propose to do about it." LeBeau raised a cold eyebrow. "You're the one who's so anxious to catch this train, and now you're wasting time."   
"Fine." Newkirk growled, and pushed forward, in front of LeBeau. The Frenchman snarled as Newkirk walked past, but Newkirk ignored him and plodded through the darkness.  
Suddenly, LeBeau stopped.  
"What!?" Newkirk demanded.  
"Do you hear something?" he frowned.  
"Oh bloody hell, Louie, not this again! It was nothing last time, and it's nothing this time!" Newkirk exclaimed.  
The moment he finished his statement, the bushes cracked, and three uniformed SS troops emerged.  
"Hands up. If you move, we will shoot." One threatened, and he cocked his pistol.  
Newkirk and LeBeau raised their hands slowly, the hate in their eyes replaced by fear.  
  
"I wonder how Peter and Louie are doing." Carter mused, leaning back on his bunk. Baker, who was playing solitaire, and Hogan, who was reading a letter from home, looked over.  
"Fine. They're fine. They've done this a hundred times." Hogan replied nonchalantly.  
"They've done worse a hundred times." Baker offered.  
"Yeah, but that was back when they were friends." Carter shrugged.  
"They're still friends now, Andrew. Everyone has hard times." Baker turned to Carter, his voice low and serious. Carter nodded, but he didn't look convinced.  
"They'll be fine." Hogan assured, and cringed inwardly as he realized he was assuring himself as much as he was assuring Carter.  
  
"Now, what are you doing out here?" The SS officer demanded, rounding on Newkirk and LeBeau. His fellows followed, and Newkirk felt the cold steel of a gun barrel pressed to the side of his head. He tried to keep the fear from his eyes, tried to stand still and strong.  
"Taking a walk." LeBeau replied casually.  
Newkirk closed his eyes in pain as he watched the SS trooper punch LeBeau hard across the face. The tiny Frenchman stumbled backwards, and the SS trooper hit him again. Newkirk couldn't bring himself to say anything. And it hurt him, because he didn't know if it was fear, the gun against his head, or his own anger. He tried to convince himself it was the fear.  
"No more smart remarks, or I will kill you. Now, what would a Frenchman and an Englishman be doing wandering the woods of Germany so late at night?" One of the SS troopers sneered.  
Suddenly, LeBeau grabbed the pistol from his pocket and shot. The SS trooper in front of him fell, and the one pressing the gun into Newkirk's head dropped his arm and ran over.   
"PETER RUN!" LeBeau screamed, and Newkirk looked around wildly as another shot was fired.  
Newkirk drew his gun and aimed, but he missed. Two other shots went off, but Newkirk was too busy at another attempt to wonder where they had come from. Newkirk shot again, and the man fell.  
He waited, tense. Nothing moved, nothing at all. Not even the wind bothered to rustle the trees. Newkirk finally dropped his gun, and started breathing again raggedly, dropping his head and blinking hard. Finally, he looked up, and realized something.  
"LeBeau?" Newkirk called.  
Nothing. Silence again.  
"LeBeau? Louis? Louie, come on!" Newkirk called. Nothing. Damned nothing, silence. Newkirk made a circled arc, looking. Had he ducked into the bushes, had he...  
"Oh my God." Newkirk breathed in a low voice, and he dropped to his knees.  
Louie LeBeau was lying on the ground, unmoving, the bruise that Newkirk had given him standing out starkly against his now deathly-white skin.  
"Oh God, no." Newkirk repeated, and he hefted LeBeau over his shoulder, running back to Stalag 13, running, and whispering over and over 'Oh God, no'  
  
"This is taking too long. Something happened." Hogan paced, looking at his wristwatch anxiously.  
"Don't worry Colonel, they'll be..." Baker started, but was cut off when a knock sounded from under the trick bunk. Exhaling in relief, Hogan walked over and raised the bed. Newkirk's head emerged, his face ashy, his eyes unfocused, strangely bright, almost as if he was tearing up.  
"Newkirk! What happened? Where's..." Hogan trailed off.  
"Come down here." Newkirk breathed, his voice wavering.  
"Oh my God." Baker whispered.  
"Come." Newkirk repeated, and Hogan and Baker followed him down into the tunnel.  
  
Newkirk had lain LeBeau out on a cot they kept down there, and in the light of the tunnel, he could see just where the SS trooper had shot him. A widening circle of scarlet, just above and a bit to the right of the Frenchman's heart. Hogan and Baker entered the room, and instantly gasped, looking away.  
"Oh no, oh Jesus...Louie..." Hogan breathed, finally picking his head up and walking over. He felt for LeBeau's pulse. And felt none. Baker remained in the doorway, his head in his hands, breathing raggedly.   
Hogan turned to Newkirk.  
"Peter, he..." Hogan started.  
"Yeah." Newkirk nodded, his voice sharp, cutting. His face was still pale, his eyes still bright, and his hands were clenched into white, shaking fists. The muscles of his jaw were working into a frenzy, and his lips were clenched together almost violently. Newkirk was shaking hard, and Hogan walked over, laying a shoulder on Newkirk's shoulder.  
Hogan's touch set him off, and he ran out of the room. Hogan and Baker heard him climb out of the tunnel, and they imagined the could almost hear the barracks door being pulled open then slammed shut.  
"What now?" Hogan whispered, shaking violently himself.  
"I...I don't..." Baker stammered, trying not to look at LeBeau, motionless on the cot. Hogan closed his eyes. This was his fault, this was all his fault. The men...they were his responsibility. They looked to him. And he had suggested Newkirk and LeBeau go out for this one! And now...oh God, and now...LeBeau. Hogan balled a fist and punched into his open hand fiercely, and then again, and again, until the only noise in the room was the 'thud' of Hogan's fisted hand.  
  
Carter watched Newkirk emerge from the tunnel, his face twisted into an expression Carter had never seen before.   
"Peter, what's..." Carter started, but Newkirk didn't even let him finish. He ran out of the barracks, slamming the door behind him. Carter frowned in confusion, and walked towards the tunnel. He knocked on the bed and it raised up. Carter climbed down.  
"Colonel? Baker? What's wrong with Newkirk?" Carter asked, looking around for the two.  
Colonel Hogan emerged from the room, and Carter's face fell. He had never seen Hogan like this. His face was white, except for a deep red in his cheeks, and he was shaking.   
"Colonel Hogan?" Carter asked, suddenly very unsure.  
"Carter." Hogan managed to choke out, and laid a hand on the young man's shoulder. Carter looked up at Hogan, suddenly very alarmed.  
"What happened?" Carter demanded.  
"LeBeau. He...well, there was...Newkirk and he got into trouble." Hogan stammered.  
"I just saw Newkirk." Carter whispered, his voice suddenly failing him.  
"Yeah, well, LeBeau...um, LeBeau is..." Hogan couldn't finish, and he clenched his jaw again, taking his hand from Carter's shoulder and fisting it again.  
"Oh no." Carter whispered, understanding finally. He tried to push past Hogan, but the Colonel pushed him back.  
"No! Don't go in there!" Hogan exclaimed.  
"Colonel, please, I want to see! I need to...I need to see him!" Carter protested, trying to break past. Hogan held firm.  
"No one needs to see that, Carter, no one. Newkirk did, and look. I don't need..." Hogan trailed off.  
"He's gone, Colonel Hogan, how much worse can it be!?" Carter choked out, tears forming in his young eyes, and Hogan choked suddenly. Carter's words...'he's gone'...had stated what he had been afraid to. LeBeau was dead. Oh dear God, the little Frenchman, his friend, was dead. Hogan blinked rapidly, and moved aside. Carter walked past him.  
Hogan couldn't stay to see Carter walk out. It was bad enough. And he had to tell Klink. God, he had to make up some excuse for Klink. How could he? How could he demean LeBeau's death to some sort of accident, all for some simpering Kraut? God, he couldn't even accept the fact that LeBeau was dead! It was too soon, much too soon, and it never should have happened! Hogan didn't even know the story, and frankly, he didn't think he wanted to know. It was enough he was gone. It was too much.  
Hogan walked out of the barracks, faintly aware he should probably find Newkirk. If he was acting like this, Newkirk was probably a thousand times worse. But Hogan had to tell Klink. Hogan had always done better under pressure when he had a purpose, so he forced himself to Klink's office. The Kommandant would probably be sleeping, but Hogan really didn't have the capacity to care about that.  
Walking into Klink's darkened office, Hogan pounded on the door to his sleeping quarters. Nothing. Hogan pounded harder and harder, even though he had already heard Klink get up. Hitting the door seemed to drown out reality, even for a moment.  
"STOP IT! WHO IS THAT!?" Klink exclaimed, throwing his door open. He noticed Hogan. "Do you know what time it is!? What are you doing here!? Hogan! Hogan, answer me!! Hogan..." Klink stopped yelling as he observed Hogan's expression "...what is it?  
"LeBeau, sir." Hogan murmured.  
"What's wrong with him?" Klink asked, pulling on his robe and adjusting his monocle.  
"He's...he's...d-d...he's gone, sir." Hogan stammered.  
"Gone?" Klink repeated the word, as if he hadn't heard right.  
"Y-yes sir. He fell, hit his head. And...and that's it." Hogan nodded. He had to control himself! God, he had already let LeBeau down. He couldn't let the rest of his men down by doing anything...anything stupid.  
"Oh no. Oh God, poor Cockroach. I cannot...believe it." Klink muttered, shaking his head and sitting down. Hogan turned to him.  
"Hogan, I know you don't want to hear this from me. And I know...well, we are enemies. But we are also men. And LeBeau was a man, a good man. He was a good man, and I will miss him. I regret this war now, that he never had to be my enemy. But I will always think of him as a good man." Klink told Hogan, staring up at him, and Hogan saw the pain in Klink's eyes.  
That was it. Hogan was strong, God, he had forced himself to be, but sometimes...well sometimes it was too much.  
Hogan put his head in his hands and wept soundlessly, shamelessly. Klink stood and walked over to him, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. Hogan wept until he couldn't anymore, and with a look of grateful sorrow, he saluted Klink, then walked out of his office.  
  
Now for Newkirk. Dawn was breaking, giving everything a rosy, pale-pink glow. Hogan was exhausted, but his men came first.  
Damn. Where was he? Hogan went over the Stalag, as the sun inched up over the horizon. He knew Newkirk wouldn't do anything irrational, but still. Hogan shook his head, remembering how Newkirk and LeBeau had been fighting. Things could not possibly be any worse.  
  
Newkirk, at that moment, couldn't really care where he was. He didn't deserve to be anywhere, actually. God, it was all his fault. All his damned fault. And Louie, Louie was gone. Because of him! Louie was dead, and it was all because of him. All because he was stupid, and stubborn, and he took everything, all his darkness, out on Louie.  
Newkirk wandered aimlessly, not crying because he couldn't cry. He hadn't for such a long time he had forgotten how. And that was another thing. Louie deserved it, damn it, and he couldn't even cry for him!   
"Hey! What are you doing out this early!" a voice broke in to Newkirk's veiled world. Schultz. Newkirk ignored him and kept wandering. He could be walking in circles for all he cared. It didn't matter.   
Newkirk felt Schultz's hand on his shoulder, and he turned around.  
"Newkirk, what are you doing out here?" Schultz demanded.  
Newkirk didn't say a word.  
"Schultz! Leave him alone!" another voice called. Colonel Hogan. Newkirk looked up and watched Hogan walk over.  
"What is going on here?" Schultz asked, confused.  
"There was an accident last night, and leave him alone." Hogan replied bitterly.  
"An accident?" Schultz frowned.  
Hogan turned to Newkirk, who was staring aimlessly again. Hogan caught the guilt in his eyes, and wished he had the words to absolve it. Schultz was waiting, giving Hogan and Newkirk an alarmed look.  
"What happened?" Schultz prodded.  
"Tell him. What the hell does it matter." Newkirk breathed in a cracked voice.  
"LeBeau had an accident last night. He's gone." Hogan reported, his voice shaking again. Every time he said it, it became more and more real. He didn't want it to be real. Oh God, that was the last thing he wanted.  
"LeBeau?" Schultz asked after a stunned moment.  
Hogan nodded.  
"Oh no...I...I can't believe it. He...was..." Schultz trailed off as he saw the beyond-hurt looks in Hogan and Newkirk's eyes. Sighing, shaking his head, Schultz put a hand on both men's shoulders.  
"Klink knows?" Schultz asked.  
"I told him." Hogan nodded faintly.  
"He was a good man. I hate this war." Schultz shook his head and walked off to Klink's office. Hogan watched him go, and felt his eyes burn again, but he blinked it back. He couldn't break down in front of Newkirk. No, Newkirk didn't need to see that.  
"Want to talk?" Hogan asked.  
"No." Newkirk shook his head.  
"Then maybe we could just sit?" Hogan suggested.  
Newkirk looked up at him and sighed a rough, ragged sigh.  
"Let's sit. Not in the barracks." Hogan led Newkirk to the side of the Recreation hall, and leaned against the wall, sitting on the ground. Newkirk followed his example.  
The two sat in silence as the dawn became total, the sky a vibrant blue, and Newkirk stared forward, his eyes distant. The men of the camp emerged for Appell, then for work detail, milling about, but a somber mood had been cast. After a while, Baker and Carter walked over. Carter's eyes were red, and he was still shaking. Baker looked sick.  
"Can we sit?" Baker asked.  
Newkirk didn't say anything, and Hogan nodded.  
"They came for his...well, they..." Baker motioned.  
The others nodded.   
No one moved. No one spoke. Schultz walked by every so often, his face bleached a bit, his eyes darkened, but he looked at the four men in such a soft, compassionate way, it just made them even more upset. The world had closed on their fifth spot, and he should have been sitting with them. God, he should have been!  
"How did it happen?" Carter finally asked in a strained voice.  
Hogan and Baker turned to Newkirk, who was staring at his hands, playing with a button on his coat. Hogan wanted to say something, but he didn't.  
"They followed us." Newkirk started in a thick voice. "I didn't know. We were fighting. They heard. They surrounded us. He grabbed his gun and shot one, to help me. To get me out. I shot, and then...well, that's it." Newkirk's voice was flat, lacking any sign of anything. That thick flatness alarmed Hogan.  
"He was so brave." Carter sighed softly.  
"Hell of a lot of good that did him." Newkirk sneered, standing suddenly. Hogan stood too, and put an grabbed Newkirk's arm, to steady the Englishman. Newkirk turned to Hogan and wrenched his arm away.  
"You know, when the damned Kraut had his gun against my head, I was still mad!? You know, damnit, that when one of those monsters hit him, I was still mad!? I was still goddamned mad, and he died...he...with me mad!!" Newkirk cried, his voice rising steadily to an almost panicked crescendo. He didn't run, though, he turned to Hogan, Baker, and Carter, judging their expressions. The three didn't know what to say.  
"And you know something else!? He heard them coming, and I screamed at him to shut up! Me! They heard me, and it's my goddamned fault!!" Newkirk finished, then he did run off.  
Hogan, Baker, and Carter watched him go. Carter's eyes filled again, and he hid his face in his hands. Baker's attention was divided between Hogan and Carter, and Hogan was solely focused on the direction Newkirk had run off in.  
"We never prepared for this." Hogan finally muttered. "We thought of everything, we did everything, we beat almost everything, but we never thought this could happen. Why the hell did it have to be LeBeau? Why him?"   
"Because it wasn't any of us." Baker sighed bitterly.  
"What about Peter?" Carter whispered.  
"Leave him. He needs to be alone now." Hogan sighed, and sat back down.  
  
That night, Newkirk was still gone, and Hogan radioed London about LeBeau, so they could get in touch with his family. The next morning, Klink had agreed to have the Frenchman's body shipped home. Things had to happen, Hogan realized, time had to move on, but that didn't mean it had to be easy. Carter had calmed down some, but he had withdrawn in to himself, and Hogan was faintly worried about that. Carter was years younger than they were emotionally, and though Newkirk might have been hit the hardest, Carter would probably have the strongest reaction. Baker had been good with Carter so far, and Hogan had never really noticed how sympathetic and strong he could be. Baker was suffering too, but he hated to see the others hurt. And Hogan himself--well, he was holding up, and he couldn't do anything else. His hands were still shaking, though, and his eyes still burned every so often.  
Hogan tapped into the radio line.  
"Papa Bear, this is Goldilocks." Hogan intoned.  
"We read you, Goldilocks. How did last night's mission go?"  
"I'm sorry to report this...God, you have no idea how sorry I am...one of our men was killed last night." Hogan stammered.  
There was a pause on the other end.  
"I'm sorry, Goldilocks, deeply."  
"I'd like you to inform his family, please. Corporal Louis LeBeau. He died bravely, sir, and...he was a good man, and..." Hogan trailed off. Everything he said, now, seemed so pointless, so meaningless. But he was confined to words, no matter how worthless they sounded to him.  
"I understand. I will see that Corporal LeBeau's family is informed. Has anything been divulged about your operation?"  
"No, sir, we're safe." Hogan replied bitterly.  
"Good then. I will inform his family. I believe you, Goldilocks, he was a good man, and I am deeply sorry. This is Papa Bear, over and out."  
The radio clicked into silence, and Hogan dropped the transmitter. He glanced at his watch, and sighed. He would have to find Newkirk, have to calm him down in some way, at least resolve the situation a little. He couldn't have Newkirk stay the way he was.  
Hogan walked out of the tunnel. Baker was waiting for him.  
"How's Carter?" Hogan asked.  
"Sleeping." Baker replied heavily.  
"Good. Poor kid, he shouldn't have had to see that." Hogan sighed.  
"None of should have had to." Baker whispered.  
"I have to find Peter. I don't know what to do about him. Once he gets...once he's like this, he's hard to...well, he's..." Words again. Hogan hated words, now.  
"I know what you mean. Find him." Baker nodded.  
Hogan gave Baker a small, sad smile, and turned to walk outside, but something caught his eye. A piece of paper on the table. Frowning, Hogan picked it up, and his breath caught in his throat, his eyes blurring suddenly.  
"Sir?" Baker asked.  
"Oh God." Hogan breathed, and walked outside, the paper clenched in his fist.  
  
Newkirk sat on the roof of the barracks, one of the only places where he could be alone. The stars were as cut diamond, glittering invitingly in the wide expanse of sky. They were too cold to him, much too indifferent and cold. He remembered sitting up on the roof, smoking in companionable silence with LeBeau, talking sometimes, but more often just sitting together. Newkirk had always felt more at ease with LeBeau...maybe because they were of the European minority at Stalag 13. Not that Newkirk minded the Americans, but LeBeau sometimes understood things they didn't.  
And LeBeau had been the perfect balance for him. Where Newkirk was acerbic and jaded, LeBeau was passionate and faithful. LeBeau's dedication, his almost selfless devotion to his cause, bemused Newkirk, but ultimately strengthened their friendship. Newkirk had always worked best with LeBeau, had always identified with him.  
Why had he been so angry lately!? Newkirk couldn't even remember now. It all seemed so trivial, so stupid, how he had lashed out at LeBeau, alienating probably his closest friend in the world.  
And he hadn't even been able to work it out. LeBeau had died, thinking Newkirk angry with him. Newkirk had let LeBeau die. It had been his fault. No matter what way he looked at it, Newkirk couldn't get away from that. It had been all his fault. He wondered faintly, glancing at the stars, if he should be crying, or talking to the others. They seemed to be doing both of those, but Newkirk couldn't bring himself to do either. He never cried, and he cursed himself for that. LeBeau deserved his tears. He couldn't even cry for his best friend. He couldn't even do that!  
"Peter?"  
Newkirk jumped a bit, then sighed. It was Hogan.  
"You mind?" Hogan asked.  
Newkirk shook his head. He didn't care.  
"What are you doing?" Hogan asked softly, putting an arm around Newkirk. Newkirk sort of tensed at the gesture, but didn't move. He didn't care.  
"Counting the stars." Newkirk choked bitterly.  
Hogan scanned the sky.  
"An awful lot of them tonight, huh?" Hogan remarked.  
"Too many." Newkirk whispered.  
"Oh I don't know. I suppose you could count them all if you tried." Hogan shrugged equivocally.  
"He has all the time in the world now." Newkirk murmured, barely audible, but Hogan heard anyway. Newkirk's hands started shaking, and he took off his cap, playing with it absently to try to calm himself.  
"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds nice." Hogan nodded, suddenly deeply and keenly touched by Newkirk's remarked. He blinked fiercely.  
"What's going to happen?" Newkirk asked suddenly, turning to Hogan, faintly outlined by the stars. Hogan was confused, not knowing really what Newkirk was referring to.  
"He's being shipped home." Hogan finally replied, hoping that was what Newkirk was referring to.  
Newkirk nodded.  
"Maybe you should..." Hogan started, but trailed off as Newkirk raised his hand, and pointed at Polaris, his hand shaking in the glowing darkness.  
"One." He whispered, his voice barely stable.  
Hogan raised his hand and pointed to another bright star.  
"Two." He added.  
Newkirk shook his head and Hogan could see his jaw muscle clenching.  
"That's Venus, Colonel, not a star." Newkirk stammered.  
"Well then, the one next to it. Two. And I cried in front of Klink Peter, wept and was comforted by Klink. I don't care." Hogan turned fully to Newkirk.  
"I forget." Newkirk shook his head.  
"You don't. It's like counting. One, two, three..." Hogan trailed off, motioning to each star, skipping Venus.  
"Four, five, six..." Newkirk finished, and he buried his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking. Hogan closed his eyes in anguish, then looked up at the stars as Newkirk wept.  
"Seven, eight, nine, ten...Peter, listen," Hogan spread open the piece of paper, and in the faint light of the crystalline stars, Hogan read.  
"Dear Mother,  
I am all right. I know you do not believe me when I say that, but I am. As always, I have enough food, and they treat us well. Schultz is fine as long as I can cook for him, and Klink...well, I won't go into that!  
The men here, my fellow prisoners, make it worth it, Mother. We fight, of course. In fact, I am fighting with one right now! But it is all right. I have told you about Corporal Peter Newkirk. He's English, so we have something in common in this mainly American camp. We're very close, which is probably why we fight. We know we will always forgive each other.  
Well, that is all I have time for, right now. I will write soon. I love you very much, and I will return soon.  
Your son, Louis LeBeau."  
Hogan finished, and folded the letter again. Newkirk looked up, sobbing still, and took it from him, putting it in his pocket.  
"He's going home." Hogan whispered, a single tear rolling down his cheek. He didn't bother to wipe it away.  
"Where were we?" Newkirk wept, looking up at the sky through his blurred blue eyes.  
"He can count them for us, and when we meet him again, he'll tell us where we were." Hogan assured, taking the words from the air, smiling a bit because he had finally said something that wasn't worthless, meaningless, and pointless.  
Newkirk sobbed, and buried his head again. Hogan put his arm around his friend again, and stared up at Venus, wondering how he could have mistaken it for a star.  
It was too bright. 


End file.
